


After the War

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy can cook, Bellarke, Communication, Complete, Dinner, Domestic, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, F/M, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Kissing, Love Confessions, Making Out, Movie Night, Nonverbal Communication, One Shot, Post Season 7, Sanctum (The 100), Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bed sharing, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: Their entire lives were a war, and now it's finally done. Now they rebuild. Now Clarke has ensure they can keep their peace, but Bellamy (and their family) intend to make sure that she make time for more than just surviving.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 18
Kudos: 159





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

> The dream scenario of Bellamy and Clarke finally getting together when there is time. It is soft and fluffy without running away from their pain. 
> 
> Tremendous gratitude to my best friend writewithurheart for beta reading and making this as close to perfect as it can be.
> 
> Comments always appreciated <3
> 
> I am participating in the Bellarke for Black Lives Matter movement found on Tumblr. If you are interested in sending a donation in exchange for a prompt fill you can send me an ask there @writetheniteaway.

Clarke would never wish isolation like she had felt after Primfaya on her worst enemy; but the temptation to pack a bag and disappear into the woods of planet Alpha grows by the second. She spends the morning acting as the de facto leadership of the newly formed Sanctum council; with representation from every competing faction, engaging in tedious politicking and tactics ranging from diplomatic negotiation to skirting dangerously close to bribery and threats; but emerging without threats of war or further bloodshed, so she takes that as a win.

The afternoon is a storm that Gabriel swears is mild but sounds to her like the end of the world (and she would know, having heard it, _twice_ ) and while everyone is hunkered down safely beneath the palace it still sets her on edge, between the new experience and the memories being dragged up, she wants quiet. But plenty of her people are set on edge being in a basement that looked a bit too much like a bunker, and plenty who weren’t her people are nervous being in close proximity to those they had called enemies mere days ago, so in her aggressive efforts to preserve the peace she had spent the morning working so hard for, she has to keep face. Be a calm, steady presence, the way Abby and Marcus had modeled for her. More memories to bury, when she has the time to dig a hole deep enough. 

When the skies finally clear Clarke is eager to be home, to swipe a ration bar from the kitchen and a bottle that looks like it would take the edge off of a bad day but still leave her lucid enough to solve whatever emergency takes root that night, tuck Madi in to bed and lock their door, keep it all at bay for a few hours. When she arrives though, the house is anything but quiet, bustling with joyful energy and loud voices. It warms her heart that her family is safe, _happy_ even, but she herself is too spent to indulge. She just wants quiet. She wouldn’t sour the mood by skulking through the house and avoiding them all though, and so she settles for a spot on the couch, being present but unnecessary. Or so she thinks she has managed, until Raven is begging her to join in. 

“Come on, Clarke, you saved the world. Again. I think you’re entitled to spend at least one night celebrating.” Raven is being uncharacteristically chipper, but quite characteristically stubborn in her insistence that Clarke come out to a party inside Sanctum proper, spurred on by Madi no doubt. Despite Raven’s insistence, Clarke remains comfortably perched on the living room couch.

“The last time I went to a party I left with a genocidal maniac running around in my head. I think I’ll pass.” Clarke says wryly. “But you should all go,” She continues, noting the disappointed looks of her friends around her.

“John and I are spending one last night in the palace,” Emori says suggestively on her way out the door. “But we’ll probably stop by for a drink first.”

Niylah, Octavia, and Hope are dressed to the nines, eager to seek the oblivion of a dark room and strong drinks, all chiming in with invitations as they rustled back and forth between their rooms, swapping jewelry and make-up.

“You oughta go while you’re young,” Diyoza says dryly. “Take the rest while you can, because who knows what’s gonna try and kill you tomorrow.”

“Real nice, Mom,” Hope sighs dramatically.

“Or you wind up like me and your idea of a good time is a whiskey bottle and a good fire by the lake.” Diyoza amends with a cheap grin. “So if anyone would prefer a bit of quieter escape, bring your own booze and don’t expect me to hold your hair.”

“I’ll find Gaia and Indra, that sounds just our speed.” Echo responds. Diyoza nods and points in a general direction of her destination before heading out the front door.

“Come out with us, Clarke,” Niylah makes the next attempt. “Come have fun.”

“I should wait in case Madi-“ Clarke offers.

“I’m going to a sleepover,” Madi cuts her off from the hall, hitching a backpack over her shoulder.

“Nu-uh _natblida_ , not so fast.” Madi turns to her in typical teenage irritation. “Sleepover where? With whom?”

“My friend from school. His mom works with Dr. Jackson in the clinic here.”

“And Nate and I have been invited to dinner there, so we will be there most of the night.” Jackson swoops in to the conversation while Madi shoots him a grateful look.

“Is your homework done?” Clarke changes tactics.

“We have a project we need to work on in groups.” Madi replies. “So if you don’t let me go, then you’re infringing on my new found access to an education.”

“Well played, tiny warrior.” Nate chuckles, giving Jackson a quick peck on the cheek from behind. Clarke shoots him a glare, but it’s one of amusement more than anything else. “We’ll make sure she only gets into as much trouble as anyone else does at a teenage sleepover, promise.”

“Alright go,” Clarke laughs. “But make sure to actually sleep!” Madi waves quickly before heading out the door.

“We’ll watch her, Clarke,” Miller promises sincerely. “So if you want to go out, you can.”

“I’m fine, really. But thank you for keeping her safe all the same.”

“What else is family for?” Jackson asks with a grin before the two depart arm in arm.

“Don’t look at me like that Raven,” Clarke says. “Go, have fun. I’ll be fine here, I promise.” She was so close to genuine quiet, most of them out of the house, she squashes the pant of guilt for wanting to be away from people she missed so dearly, but she is human, and she needs time to breathe.

“We’re not going without you, so either come with us or we’ll all stay here.” 

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“When is the last time we spent more than five minutes together when someone wasn’t trying to kill us all? Hm?” Raven asked. “I miss my friend. I wanna spend time with Clarke. Not Wanheda, leader of our people, key to saving humanity. Just Clarke Griffin, bossy princess pain in the ass who really needs to learn how to have a good time.” Raven looks at her intently, knowing she pulled the best card she had.

“Alright, fine.” Clarke says exasperatedly. “One drink, and then I am coming straight back here and going to sleep in a real bed.” Raven either misses or completely ignores the notable lack of enthusiasm.

“Yes!”

“She caved?” Octavia shouts from her room.

“Yeah, it’s a go!” Raven shouts back. “Now go get dressed!” She gently but forcefully shoves Clarke off the couch.

Clarke makes her way to the master suite and flips open the closet door, giving little thought to what she pulls out, swallowing the vaguely sick feeling of conquest over wearing clothes that used to belong to the primes.

She winds up with a green dress that reminds her of the pine trees in the valley, a dark green with simple straps that sits tight against her frame until it meets her waist, then flares out softly. She spares a glance in the mirror to make sure her hair falls comfortably, and on a last minute impulse applies a hint of lipstick, only allowing herself the luxury because she had found it still sealed when they first moved in. Good enough for someone attending a party under duress, she thinks. 

*

Clarke hurries down the hall and makes her way to the top of the stairs, swallowing the vague instinct to simply turn around and go back now that it is finally, blessedly _quiet_. Annoyance builds as she goes from room searching for the people who were so insistent that she join them, the people who have apparently vanished. She passes by the kitchen quickly, then doubles back when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye.

Bellamy grins when she finds him in the kitchen, a blush creeping up his face. “Wow, Clarke.”

“Thanks,” She says dismissively. “They all insisted.”

“Haven’t you learned by now that you don’t tell Raven no?” He turns from the island where he’s cutting vegetables with an open bottle of what looks like red wine beside him to stir something on the stove. “They’re already out the door by the way,” He informs her, and she rolls her eyes at their impatience. 

“Do you want to come with us?”

His eyes dart to the dining room table, set with two places, and a candle in the center.

“Oh.” She nods understandingly. “They could have just said you wanted the house to yourselves you know.”

“Ourselves?”

“Two spots at the table, candlelight, something that smells great on the stove. Date night with Echo.” She smiles. “It’s sweet. I’ll make sure to have more than one drink.” She turns towards the door again.

“Clarke, wait,” Bellamy says.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, wiping his hands quickly on a dishtowel. “I just-“ He steps around the island to stand squarely in front of her. “This isn’t for me and Echo.”

She looks at him quizzically for a moment, and then understanding starts to dawn on her. Suddenly he’s much closer than a moment ago. “We talked on the way back to Sanctum.”

“Bellamy, she’s your family,” Clarke says intently. “She’s-“

He shakes his head. “And I’ll always love her. But she won’t live in the lie anymore. And I can’t ask her to.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarke asks him with genuine confusion.

“Clarke,” He says in some mix between amusement and exasperation. “Look at me.”

She’d already been facing him, but she tilts her head to meet his gaze. He stares at her intently until she steps back. “Bellamy…”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He says simply. “Tell me I’m wrong, go to the party, and we’ll never talk about it again.”

“I,” She hesitates. He waits.

“Bellamy we can’t-“

“Why?” He closes the space between them again.

“Because I can’t choose you.” She says, and now that she’s started she can’t stop. “I can’t keep them safe if I have you. I can’t make whatever hard choice comes next if I know that you’re there. I already lost you, and it almost killed me. I can’t. If we…I won’t be able to choose. I won’t be able to do what needs to be done because I’ll have to keep you safe and I can’t do that if I’m in love with you.”

“Are you?” He asks her, face unable to mask the fear of what she might say, but he asks again even so. “Are you in love with me?”

Clarke lets out a long breath and bites her lip. She’s turning every possible angle in her mind, trying to map out what’s won and lost with every option, but the temptation to release a secret she’s held so long is tantalizing, whatever the consequences, unless that includes losing Bellamy. But if he’s asking, then it means he at least suspects, and letting that fester will only be worse than clearing the air. And if he more than suspects...she shuts that thought down before it can fully form, not daring to hope. She closes her eyes as if she’s confessing to a crime when she nods. Bellamy cradles her face in his hand and kisses her forehead gently.

“Then come have dinner with me,” He says softly. “And we’ll figure it out together.”

Clarke starts to shake and for one horrified second he believes she’s crying, but then her eyes are bright and she’s covering her mouth with her hand clasped in front to hide her smile. “Did everyone know this was happening but me?”

“Even Madi,” He laughs, and suddenly one hundred and thirty-one years of distance gives way to the magnetic force between them and all of the weight and clouds that held space between them dissolve.

“Come on,” He takes her hand and leads her back to the kitchen island. She takes a seat on the stool, and reluctantly lets go so that he can go back to his work.

“So,” She pours herself a glass of wine. “Were you the mastermind behind this scheme, or did you have help?”

“Now I know this might be hard for you to hear,” He says with a mocking seriousness, returning to his vegetables. “But I’ll never tell.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Alright then, we’ll start simpler. What are you making?”

“Something I like to call stuff in a pan.” He grins. “You find some protein, and some greens and then you put them on some heat until the protein isn’t raw and the greens are soft.”

“Sounds fantastic,” She replies.

“It is,” He says confidently. “It’s versatile, you can make it in a camp, or on a spaceship, or in a kitchen on an alien planet. The alien planet is my personal favorite.”

“And why is that?” She asks.

He shakes his head and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “Spice rack.” Clarke laughs again, and it strikes her that she hasn’t laughed this much since…could she even remember?

“I missed hearing you laugh,” He says with his sincerity that is just so _Bellamy_ it stuns her. “Not that you did all that often,” he jibes her. “But when you did. It was nice.”

“It’s been awhile,” She admits. “There wasn’t...”

“Time,” He finishes. “Yeah. We’ve got a bad habit of either too much or not enough of that.”

“Can you call something involuntary a habit?”

“Depends on the context.” He ducks his head back towards the stove. She seizes the opportunity to swipe a raw carrot off his cutting board.

“Breathing is involuntary, not a habit.”

“Near death experiences, usually involuntary, still wouldn’t call it a habit.” He says dryly, skimming the labels of the spice jars.

“Losing people we care about,” Clarke counters. “Definitely involuntary.”

“Focusing on everything that can go wrong instead of taking the good moments when we get them,” He counters cleanly, lifting his selection of jars from the shelf. “Bad habit.”

“Sorry,” She says.

“On the ring,” He informs her, dashing spices into his pan. “Downer comments at dinner meant you got latrine duty for a week.”

“Negative reinforcement,” She smirks. “Effective.”

“We thought floating people for bad moods was a little extreme. Even if Emori did want to launch Murphy into the sun a couple of times.”

“Well they seem to have patched things up just fine now,” Clarke informs him.

“Knew they would,” He agrees. He lifts the pan from the stove and cocks his head towards the dinner table. Clarke takes both of their glasses to the table, sliding his towards his seat while he piles hearty servings onto their waiting dishes.

“This smells amazing,” Clarke says sincerely. “Why did it take me this long to find out you knew how to cook?”

“Doesn’t take a genius like Raven to figure out how to make food hot.” He says modestly, taking his seat across from her.

“But it does take skill to make it taste like something,” She stabs a piece of meat and takes a bite. “And that,” She says, not even fully done chewing, “tastes great.”

Bellamy blushes at her praise before taking up his first forkful. They eat in silence for a few minutes, comfortable companionship the likes of which they haven’t shared in far too long. Clarke feels him watching her and now it’s her turn to blush.

“What?”

“I like the green,” He says.

She tries to accept the compliment gracefully but something about it feels off.

“For real this time.”

“You said you’re in love with me.”

Clarke’s stomach flips. “You asked.”

“Are you done with that?” He asks her, reaching for her plate but she grabs his instead. He’s deflecting, stalling in some way. She knows, but she’ll allow it.

“You cooked, I’ll clean.” She insists. He rolls his eyes by acquiesces, following her back into the kitchen. She lets the water run in the sink, waiting for it to be hot. Bellamy leans against the counter, not crowding her but closer than is strictly necessary all the same. “I’m impressed you actually let Madi out of the house voluntarily.” He tells her.

“I want her to have normal, or something close to it at least.” Clarke says, careful to keep her tone to the neutral side of defensive.

“But you worry anyway,” He says, understanding, not judgmental.

“How did you feel about Octavia running around on the ground?” She asks by way of reference.

“Thrilled she was free, and terrified something would happen to her at the same time.” He replies, knowing full well Clarke knew the answer without him saying a word at all.

“That’s where I am with Madi,” She says.

“Well if she’s anything like O, just tell her to do the exact opposite of what you want, and everything should be fine.” He grins wryly, taking a now clean plate from her hand and reaching across her waist for a dish towel.

Clarke ignores the electric feeling lingering where his arm had been. It’s _Bellamy_. Why did she feel like she was seventeen again? Like everything about him was new, exciting and terrifying all at once.

“How’s Octavia doing?” Clarke asks, taking his willingness to discuss her as permission to broach the subject.

“Better than I ever thought she’d be,” He answers honestly, unable to contain his joy. “I feel like I finally get to watch her be happy. Really happy.”

“What about us?” Clarke asks him, meaning it innocently, shutting the sink and handing off the last plate. “Think we’ll ever get to be really happy?”

“I love you too you know,” He says, letting his hand linger on her arm.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” She says, but doesn’t pull away. “I meant, this is the longest we’ve had peace since-“

“We’ve never had peace Clarke.” He contradicts her. “We’ve had calm, we’ve had surviving, but you and I,” He looks at her intently, ensuring she won’t miss his meaning. “We have never had peace.”

“I don’t know if we even know what that looks like.” She pulls away from him then, neither angry nor upset, just making sure that there’s space. “This was really kind of you. Thank you for dinner.”

“Clarke don’t-“

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t leave me again.” That shocks her.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re walking away. I told you how I felt, and you feel the same way I do and you told me so yourself, and now you just want to pretend it never happened and not mention it again.”

“Bellamy-“

“No. You want to bury pain, fine. So do I. But why bury this?”

“Because this will never be real!” She snaps at him. “You begged everyone we know to give us one night alone. You broke Echo’s heart and you made an amazing meal and got Raven to trick me into wearing a beautiful dress. By this time tomorrow something else will go wrong and all this will be is another taste of a dream that won’t come true. We will do anything for our family, for our people. We can’t have this too Bellamy. You _know_ that.”

“No, I don’t.” He says, his voice unwavering. “And you don’t either. You think that’s what will happen because that’s all you have ever done is prepare for whatever nightmare comes next. You can keep the brave face on for everyone else if it makes you feel better, but stop hiding from me.”

“I’m not hiding,” She says, convincing neither of them. “I just know the second I let my guard down I’m going to lose you again. Or lose everyone else trying to keep you safe. And I-“ She cracks then, and he gets the same sick feeling he did when she begged him not to write her name on the list. “I can’t. I can’t be having dinner with you in a dress on a farm. If this is what we need to be together, we can’t. Because this could all disappear tomorrow and I will still love you so much it hurts to breathe.”

He puts his hands on either of her arms and holding her steady. He wants to promise that this will last. That her dreams for herself and her family will all come true, and that they will live in prosperity, comfort, and peace until her dying breath decades from now. But he vowed the moment he resolved to have this conversation that he would never lie to her again, and he would not break it now. “If all of Sanctum is a burning wasteland by morning, I will still love you.”

“If all of Sanctum is a burning wasteland by morning, then I need you by my side to find a way to put it out,” She says stoically. “Which means you can’t love me.”

“Everything we have ever done, good choice or bad, we did together _because_ I love you.” He can practically see the way her mind is turning, playing out every path this conversation could go. “This is not one of the times you get to say we have to be smart about this,” He continues, taking on a tone dangerously close to desperation. “There’s no thinking here Clarke, it’s all heart. You just have to trust me.”

“Of course I trust you,” She says, softening. “I just-“ She falters. “Don’t trust this.”

Bellamy exhales, rolling his shoulders back and taking a moment to press his palms to his face. He looks at her again with resolve, closing the gap between them and resting one hand on her waist, the other moving her hair from her face, tucking it securely out of the way. He runs his hand down her cheek, slowly, giving her every opportunity to stop him. Clarke calms under his touch, an involuntary reaction she can’t quite bring herself to be unhappy with. Bellamy’s hand rests briefly under her chin before tilting her face up to meet his.

Clarke draws closer, and he takes that as permission to finally kiss her. It’s soft, but strong, laced with decades of unspoken connection finally coming to the surface. Before they get lost he pulls back, checking her expression carefully for any sign of distress. Clarke looks at him intently, searching for reluctance on his part, or worse regret. Bellamy runs his thumb across her cheek, willing her to understand. “I won’t let it go wrong,” he promises. It’s a wholly insufficient vow and exactly what she needs to hear at the same time. She smiles briefly and then it’s her turn to initiate, the last shred of hesitancy vanishing. Now comes passion, an intensity so much more complicated than simple need, and minutes pass or maybe hours and Clarke is braced up against the kitchen counter, Bellamy’s hands keeping her steady as they explore each other.

The need for oxygen eventually wins out, and Clarke pushes him back just far enough to breathe, still close at hand with her arms laced around his back. Bellamy grins at her, the weight of a lifetime of wanting lifted. Clarke needs air, but he needs Clarke, and so he takes to trailing kisses at the base of her throat, a prideful smirk on his face when he hears her gasp in pleasurable surprise.

Clarke brazenly grabs any part of him she can reach, addicted now that she’s had a taste. “Come on,” She says, dropping down from the countertop and immediately taking his hand between both of hers. She leads him up to her bedroom, positioning him deliberately on the edge of her bed. She straddles him and Bellamy is fairly certain he could die happy in this moment, holding her steady, relishing the feel of the soft skin of her back beneath his hands.

Clarke reaches her hand up under his shirt, determined to have equal access before her mouth is on his again. Bellamy melts into her touch, savoring the sensation, an easy kind of comfort that he always draws from her, magnified in this new and perfect way. Clarke reaches again, lower, brushes her hand devilishly close between his legs, and it’s everything he ever asked for and yet something pulls him back.

He stops kissing her, but he can’t will himself to surrender the satisfaction of holding her so close at hand, pulling her into a tight embrace. Clarke contents herself in his arms for a moment, but impatience wins out as she reaches for the buttons on his shirt.

He snags her hand in his and brings it to his lips, fluttering a kiss on the inside of her wrist that sends a shiver down her spine. She says his name with a needy sigh and he finds the source of his hesitation. He draws back, one arm still secure across her back.

“What’s wrong?” She asks him, reading his face.

“Not wrong,” He clarifies, circling her wrist with his thumb.

“Then why did you stop?” She asks, voice heavy with temptation.

He shakes his head, reaching for clarity. “I’m not letting you go that easy.” He meets her gaze directly then, the haze of want dissipating. “Get me in bed and get it out of our systems, right?”

Clarke feels guilty suddenly, because of course Bellamy would be able to read things she hadn’t even consciously realized herself yet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” He assures her, laying a kiss on her temple. “But when we do this,” he meets her eye, letting there be no mistake that it is a matter not of if but when, “it will be because it’s right, not in case we don’t get another chance. Ok?”

Clarke rolls her eyes to the ceiling, but finds herself agreeing with a nod. “I’m trying here, Bellamy.”

“I know,” He says. “That’s what you’ve got me for.” Clarke smiles contentedly.

“So what now then?”

“Now,” Bellamy says, guiding her at the waist to sit beside him so that he can stand. “We get back to your quiet night in.”

“You’re making fun of me,” She says, but her tone is light.

“Not at all,” he says in mock offense. “It was all part of the plan. Watch a movie with me?”

“Sure,” Clarke agrees eagerly. “Just let me get out of this dress.” Embarrassment flushes across her face when she realizes what she’s said. Bellamy kisses the top of her head affectionately and impulsively, mostly because he can, willing her to find that comfortable ease they had just seconds ago. “I’ll be downstairs.”

*

Bellamy’s got something light queued up on the screen, two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table, and he’s been browsing Russell’s bookshelf for a few minutes, making a mental list of what he might pick up if he finds the time. He’s waiting for Clarke to come down, and the sheer simplicity of all; well, he may understand just what has her so gun shy. It’s not easy getting used to the quiet domesticity of life after war - what else could you call everything they’ve endured - but he wants to. But wanting something and having it (by which he of course means someone and her) well that was just a bit too close to perfect and he’d never quite stop looking over his shoulder just in case.

He understood Clarke’s impulse, to get all of their living out in the spare moments between crises. But he always had hope when hers was lacking, and it had been enough for them to share before and it would have to be enough now. There is time. They can be happy.

“Hot chocolate?” She asks from the doorway, genuine excitement in her voice. He relishes how the small extravagance had such an impact on her.

“Figured we could go all out,” He says. She looked as beautiful in some soft shorts and a thermal shirt as she had in that damn dress, and he has to focus to remember why he hadn’t just helped her out of it himself a few minutes ago.

“I’m not really sure what this is,” He says gesturing vaguely at the screen. “But it doesn’t look like it ends in a war zone, so I figured I’d keep this whole peace theme going.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Clarke says, taking one of the mugs from the table and passing it to him. She takes her own next, inhaling deeply to savor the scent before taking her first sip. “Wow,” she says delightedly.

They sit on opposite ends of the couch, Bellamy hits play and they spend time sipping the warm chocolate and trying to make heads or tails of what is going on in the story. Clarke finishes her drink first, placing the empty mug back on the table and curling her knees up to her chest. She’s watching the movie, but Bellamy’s watching her. He doesn’t get away with it for long, her instincts are too good. She meets his eyes, not bothering to uncurl. He bites back a small smile and flips his eyes to the screen, feigning innocence behind a sip from his mug. Clarke lets it slide, turning her attention back to the film. 

A while later he places his mug down as well, turning to lean his back against the armrest of the couch, no longer interested in the pretense of denying he just wanted to watch her while she took in the movie.

“You’re not going to finish that?” She asks.

“All yours,” He replies, winning a shameless look of indulgence from her as she reaches for his mug. They chatter for a while, poking holes in the simple plot and enjoying each other’s company. Picasso whines by the door to be let out, which Clarke reluctantly attends to. Bellamy pauses the movie and takes the opportunity to drop the finished mugs in the sink and swing by his room to change out from his dress shirt and into a simple tee. They wind up heading back into the living room at the same time, and he catches Clarke’s hand before she can make her way back to her respective end of the couch, pulling her into his lap instead.

“Much better,” She hums, one hand lace comfortably in his and the other drumming softly at the base of his neck. The sensation is as soothing as it is intoxicating, and he can’t help but kiss her. It’s neither chaste nor filthy, but solidly comfortable, just long enough to confirm that yes, this has not all been an elaborate fever dream. It’s realer than either of them had dared wish for.

Bellamy resumes the movie and lets his hand rest comfortably on her waist. Clarke leans against the armrest but her head rests on his shoulder, content.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” She insists. “I want to make sure they get back ok.”

Bellamy shakes his head in what would be disbelief if he didn’t know her so well.

“I’ll stay up if you do,” He offers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you need sle-“

“ _Clarke.”_ He looks at her patiently, waiting for her to catch on, which doesn’t take long.

“Sorry,” She says softly.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” He assures her. He would never ask her not to care about their family, how much she cared was a large part of why he loved her, but she could allow herself time to rest. To heal. And if he had to remind her to do that forever, well, so be it.

“I could get used to this,” She sighs contentedly. “And not just the quiet,” She continues, placing another secure kiss on his lips. “This.”

Her action is neither brazen nor timid, but it is a triumphant one. He recognizes the satisfaction, the desire to celebrate belonging, and gives her hand a tight squeeze. “Me too.”

*

Bellamy hears the back door open, and a low murmur of voices. Gaia ghosts by the door of the living room; perhaps one day they would all be able to sleep without scouting their perimeter, but not yet. Gaia gives him an approving nod before heading to her room, and he’s grateful for her good sense not to disturb the calm. Clarke finally surrendered to sleep, still curled comfortably on top of him, and true to his word he had stayed up, if only for her own peace of mind. Gaia’s return meant more than likely that Diyoza, Indra and Echo had also come back. And with most everyone else intending not to return that evening he was up waiting for Hope, Raven, and Octavia.

Though he would never tell, they had been his co-conspirators. Raven had cornered him nearly as soon as they returned to Sanctum and told him to get his head out of his ass and start communicating with people like an adult. He owed her for the romantic advice, even if it felt like a slap in the face at first. Once he had talked with Echo; suddenly Octavia had barged in his room demanding to know what exactly he planned on doing to talk to Clarke; and he nearly mistook her enthusiasm for outrage, but when she suggested he make the dish from their childhood, suddenly the last shred of conflict tied itself up so neatly that he could cry. And all that was left was to actually talk to Clarke. Between Octavia, Raven, and Hope, there wasn’t a person in that house who couldn’t be persuaded to disappear for the night.

The front door opens with a click and a giggling Hope, being shushed aggressively by Octavia and Raven. When they cross past the living room with barely contained, and too loud inebriated enthusiasm, he shoots them all daggers. Clarke stirs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes quickly. Bellamy rolls his eyes at the girls in the hall, and Octavia makes mention of not letting Diyoza see how drunk they had let Hope get and escorts her upstairs. Raven leans against the doorframe, a victorious look on her face.

“Nice time you two?”

“Till about ten seconds ago, yeah” Bellamy says, but there was no genuine venom in his voice.

“Is everyone back?”

“Yes Mom, we all came home before curfew just like you asked.” Raven smirks at her.

Clarke accepts that as fact before settling back against Bellamy. “You were in on it weren’t you?”

“In on what?” Raven asks innocently.

“Drink water before you go to bed,” Bellamy says, changing the subject smoothly. “We’re still starting on the fence for the new compound tomorrow morning whether you’re hungover or not.”

“Ouch, is that any way to thank your wing woman?”

“I knew it.” Clarke laughs.

“Good night you two,” Raven says, her voice jumping up a bit. She takes a few steps before doubling back, “You know the rules Bellamy, sex in common areas is an automatic month long sentence to breakfast duty.”

Clarke bites her lip and her eyes go wide in a combination of amusement and embarrassment.

“Night, Raven,” Bellamy says sternly. She departs with one last satisfied smirk.

“Monty and Harper,” Bellamy explains wryly. Clarke hides her face against his chest, muffling her laughter so as to not wake anyone already asleep. He tightens his grip on her waist, willing her to stay close by against what he knows will be her better judgment to sleep in an actual bed.

“I have to move before I change my mind,” She insists. Of course he knew what she was thinking before she said it.

He steals one last kiss before reluctantly unwinding his arms from her. He stands slowly, pleasantly sore from her weight on him. They walk upstairs silently, hand in hand for no other reason than they can be. They reach Clarke’s door and he kisses her forehead, another newfound privilege he’s in no hurry to stop indulging in. She whispers good night to him as he heads down the hall, bypassing his room initially and heading into the shared bathroom to wash up.

Clarke’s leaning between her room and his when he returns, having decided nearly as soon as she shut the door she had absolutely no desire to try and fall back asleep alone. She startles him in the second before she places her finger to his lips so that he doesn’t wake the rest of them. She takes his hand and pulls him into her room, and he knows somewhere he should tell her no but that’s too complicated a conversation for the hallway and too complex an idea to resolve while half asleep himself.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” She says simply once her door is closed, confidence in her ask already wavering, and she attempts to lessen the blow of an oncoming rejection by releasing his hand to turn down her covers. “But if you want to stay-“

In answer, Bellamy turns back for a moment and locks the door, a gesture for security more than privacy, and Clarke smiles contentedly, shifting from the middle of her bed to one side. He joins her, placing a light kiss on her cheek and murmuring good night again, leaving one arm a steady presence on her waist.

“Love you,” Clarke says in reply, already more asleep than awake.

 _Love you too_ , he replies, not voicing it aloud only because she’s already asleep.


End file.
